


Accidental Leverage Blog Posts

by AlannaofRoses



Category: Leverage
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Language, Multi, Nightmares, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Panic Attacks, Random & Short, Spoilers, Spoilers For All Episodes/Seasons, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:27:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24709855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlannaofRoses/pseuds/AlannaofRoses
Summary: This is the home for all of my Tumblr bits and bobs, my prompt fills and requests and such. Each 'chapter' will be a separate category or prompt with all the filled responses together. Each chapter, therefore, is complete as is, but more chapters will be added.Chapter Three: Angst Prompts Round 1
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Eliot Spencer, Alec Hardison/Parker, Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer, Mr. Quinn/Eliot Spencer (Leverage), Parker/Eliot Spencer (Leverage)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 68





	1. Hug Prompts

**Author's Note:**

> For more Leverage meta, analysis, memes, and prompts, come see me @alannaofroseswrites.

#1: A Hug to Soothe the Nightmares

Eliot wakes instantly and soundlessly, a knife in his hand.

For a moment, he is trapped nowhere and everywhere, caught in that horrible space between waking and dreaming where all the worst monsters lay.

But there is no gunfire, no screaming, no crackle of flames.

Just the soft, peaceful breathing of Parker and Hardison behind him.

He relaxes, sliding the knife back into its hiding place. Just a nightmare.

He lies still for a moment, letting his partners easy breathing loosen the knots in his muscles, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness of the room, letting his overheated body cool down.

When he does move, it is in one smooth motion that barely disturbs the stillness. He leaves the room on silent feet, pacing to the window and settling himself on the chair tucked into the corner. From here, his back is to the room where his partners lie protected, and his eyes can search every corner, cranny, and entry for any threat.

Parker called it his lookout.

The deliberate brush of a foot against the wooden floor alerted him a moment before the thief’s slim hand came down on his shoulder. Parker had learned the hard way not to sneak up on him, especially in this state.

She regarded him with dark, sad eyes. “Again?”

He grunted.

She made a soft, sad sound and pressed closer. He knew when she felt she shivers that still wracked him.

“I’m okay, darlin’.” He tried to reassure her, but his voice wasn’t quite working right, all raspy and strangled.

She made the sad sound again, and then she was in his lap.

He froze for a moment, instincts and fear and demons rising in his throat, but then his body registered _Parker_ and _safe_ and _his_.

He wrapped his arms tight around her warmth and breathed shaky exhales into her hair.

She sat still and quiet in his embrace, one hand buried in his shirt and the other stroking a bit of the hair that curled against his neck.

“It’s okay.” She murmured.

Eliot thought she was talking to him until he felt another pair of arms wrap around his shoulders from behind.

Hardison’s long arms encompassed both of them, encasing Eliot in a net of warmth and safety, holding him together.

It was why they worked, after all.

Eliot protected their bodies, their backs, their lives. He put himself between them and danger time and time again to make sure they never suffered harm.

But suffering was not always physical, and no one knew that better than his two lovers, who had picked a hitter with as many scars on his soul as on his body.

When the threat came from inside, when his mind was the enemy, it was they who always defended him.

It was Parker and Hardison who fought off the demons of Eliot’s past time and time again.

Eliot leaned his head against Hardison’s shoulder gratefully, pressed a kiss into Parker’s hair, and enjoyed the hug.

#4: A Hug Goodbye

“Do you have to go?” Parker asked for the tenth time.

Eliot glanced towards the ceiling, his hands never pausing in their task of packing his bag. “You know I do, darlin’.”

She pouted, lowering herself further until her toes were brushing his shoulders. “I don’t like when we take outside jobs.”

“I know. But Quinn called in his favor, and I need to keep my promise.” He smiled at her reassuringly.

“Are you sure I can’t come with you? Or Hardison? Anybody?”

“No, Parker. I already told ya. We’re just going in as muscle. Besides, Quinn’ll have my back.”

“He better.” Parker muttered.

Eliot made a mental note to tell Quinn to get out of the country for a bit if Eliot ended up with so much as a scratch. Though that still wouldn’t save the other hitter from Hardison. Best not to get injured then.

Parker was still pouting, letting her harness spin her slowly around. Eliot zipped up the bag and put it on his shoulder, holding out his arms. “C’mon darlin’. I gotta say my goodbyes.”

It had been years now, but a part of him still marveled in the obvious trust as Parker immediately unhooked her rig and dropped into his hold.

She was all octopus limbs, wrapping herself around him as if she wanted to fuse their bodies together. He wouldn’t put it past her to try as a tactic to keep him from leaving her.

He squeezed her back just as tight and pressed his lips to her ear. “I’m coming back. I promise. Trust me.”

She nodded, silently, her face still buried in his shoulder.

He gave her a few more seconds before he loosened his grip. She took the hint and detached herself, sliding off and onto the floor. Her slim hand entwined with his as they walked out into the main room.

Nate and Sophie were talking quietly at the bar, Hardison not far away messing with some fancy bit of tech. They looked up as Eliot and Parker entered.

Hardison was the first to move, wrapping his arms around Eliot in the second octopus hug of the day. “You be careful out there man, okay? Remind Quinn that I can erase him.”

Eliot snorted at the warning.

Sophie was next. Her hug was soft and warm and sure. “Both of you take care of yourselves.” She brushed a kiss to his cheek. “Come home soon.”

Nate just nodded at him, putting a solid hand on Eliot’s shoulder. “Got a job coming up. Don’t be long.”

Eliot knew that was code for _‘don’t do anything that will put you in the hospital’_. It was as close to a hug as Nate gave.

Eliot gave his team one last smile and walked away.

Quinn was waiting for him, the nondescript car idling casually in a nearby alley.

“Everything okay?” The other hitter asked.

Eliot swung his bag into the backseat. “Yeah. It’s just… nice to have people to come home to.”

#11: A Hug to Hide In

When Eliot gets back from the store, the apartment is dark and quiet. Parker is gone for the weekend, visiting Archie, but Hardison had planned a long weekend of gaming and online activity. Eliot had expected to find the sound system blaring and all of Hardison’s giant screens showing War of Worldcraft or whatever.

The lack of exuberant geek is a little concerning.

Eliot sets the bags down on the counter as silently as possible and paces through the apartment. It is quickly clear that Hardison isn’t in the main room, as the open floor plan provides few viable hiding places by design.

The bedroom door is cracked open. Eliot feels his heartrate speed up as his mind feeds him images of what could have happened to Hardison, left alone in his absence, if one of Leverage’s many enemies had found him.

Eliot presses himself to the wall and pushes the door slowly into the room.

His whole being relaxes when he sees Hardison, finally. The hacker is curled on the bed, his tablet lying nearby and giving off a faint dim glow.

The light catches on the tear tracks tracing Hardison’s cheeks.

“Alec?”

Hardison shoots up, scrubbing at his face. “Oh, hey, Eliot, man. Didn’t hear you come in.”

Eliot moves to the bed, drawn to Hardison’s pain as he is to any hurt, wanting to soothe, fix, destroy that which was causing pain. He catches Hardison’s chin, gently forcing the hacker to meet his eyes. “Tell me.”

Tell me and its done. Tell me and I’ll fix it. Tell me and you’ll never have to worry about it again.

Hardison shakes his head. “You can’t fix this Eliot, though I love you for wanting to try.”

Eliot accepts it, waits, patiently, using his thumb to brush away the lingering grief as he lets Hardison figure out what he needs.

“Just hold me?” Hardison asks, finally, his voice small.

Eliot kicks off his shoes without a word and climbs into the bed, Hardison scooting back to allow him space to settle. As soon as he is situated against the mound of pillows Parker insists on keeping piled on the bed, Eliot lifts an arm and Hardison burrows against him. The hacker buries his face in Eliot’s shoulder, wrapping himself around Eliot’s strength.

Eliot returns the favor, tugging Hardison even closer and pulling a blanket over them both so the hacker is completely cocooned in Eliot’s hug. He feels Hardison let out a long sigh, his body relaxing in safety.

After a moment, Eliot asks again. “Alec?”

He hates to disturb the fragile peace, but he needs to know if there is a threat that needs to be dealt with, and he knows Hardison will understand.

Hardison just shakes his head again. “Even you can’t fight the whole world, Eliot. I’m just tired of all the hate.”

They sit like that a long time, and Eliot is content to let Hardison hide from the world forever if he needs to.

#18: Never Let Go Hug

Hardison stares at the ground, trying to keep his breathing steady. His stomach sloshes uncomfortably, his heart lodged somewhere in his throat and beating out a frantic tempo.

Eliot, 10,000 feet below them, is no more than a speck through the binocular filter on his goggles. Still, his voice is warm in Hardison’s ear.

“You guys ready?”

Eliot’s parachute, blues and reds stark against the green field, is draped over Lucielle ready to be packed and reset for another jump.

Another jump his crazy lovers would be doing without Hardison, thank you very much.

Hardison knows Eliot’s harness is already stripped and packed, practice for the real thing. Hardison had been in the van for the last two jumps as Eliot and Parker nailed down all the variables they needed for this to be successful. Unfortunately for him, they couldn’t get around the need to practice the tandem jump, and Eliot weighed more than Hardison, so the test would be off.

“Mama, I don’t know if I can do this.” He turned to Parker, who was rechecking all their straps one more time.

“Don’t be silly, Hardison. Eliot did it, and he’s fine.” Parker huffed.

“Eliot is a certified badass. He does crazy shit all the time. I’m a hacker. Hac-ker. I ain’t supposed to fly.”

Eliot is laughing at him. “Certified badass?”

“Shut up man.” Hardison whines. “I’m not built for this.”

“Hardison.” Parker says, in that voice she reserves for Hardison and Hardison alone. “Hey. You know we need to practice this. Our next con depends on us getting away quick and this is the best option.”

“Why we gotta practice though? Why can’t you and Eliot just shove me off a building like you normally do?”

Parker looks confused. “I thought you didn’t like it when we did that.”

“I don’t mama. But at least I don’t have time to think about it! I’m all up in my head, and I’m looking at the ground, and do you know what a bad landing could do to a person from this height?” His voice is climbing into dangerous territory, but he can’t quite bring himself to care.

“Hardison.” Parker says firmly. “When have I ever let you fall?”

“Never.” He admits.

“Right.” She smiles. “I’ll be holding on to you the whole time, okay? And Eliot is waiting at the bottom, he’ll make sure we make it down safely.”

Hardison glances back at the speck that is the third side of their triangle. Eliot’s breathing is calm and steady in his ear, a heartbeat Hardison can count on.

“Ok.” He looks back at Parker, taking a deep breath. “Okay.”

She steps forward, right up in his space, her tiny form dwarfed against him as she efficiently clips their harnesses together.

“Ready?”

“No.”

Eliot growls. “Hardison.”

“Ok, okay. Ready.”

Parker wraps her arms around him tightly.

He clings back just as hard, knowing whatever happened, Parker had him. “Never let go babe.”

She smiles. “Never.” She promises.

They jump.

#20: A Hug to Stay On Your Feet (loosely interpreted :P)

“Hurry!” Sophie’s voice is frantic in Parker’s ear. Parker knows she and Nate are watching them from the van, helpless.

Helpless is how Parker feels too as the sounds of Eliot’s breathing get ever more ragged.

Hardison’s fingers are flying across the keyboard, his body moving in frantic, jerky motions that set Parker’s teeth on edge.

“Got it!” He announces finally.

“Get out of there.” Even Nate’s voice is laced with fear. “Eliot, Eliot they’re out. Eliot!”

“Copy.” Eliot bites out as Parker pulls the vent cover back into place after them, shimmying down the ducts behind Hardison until they reach the roof. Then they are flying down the fire escape, Sophie leaning out the door of Lucille below them.

“Eliot?” Parker asks as they reach Lucille.

“Here.” The door crashes open, their hitter stumbling through. If Parker had been anyone else, the amount of blood coating him would have made her nauseous. “Go.” Eliot drags himself into the van, Sophie sliding the door shut as Nate presses the gas pedal to the floor.

Bad guys stream out after them. There are a lot fewer than when they had ambushed Parker and Hardison.

Eliot is panting harshly, slumped over where he had fallen.

“Let me see.” Sophie says gently, trying to get him to uncurl. She presses gently on his side, and Eliot makes a sound that Parker never wants to hear again.

Hardison drops to his knees, his face green, hands hovering inches above the injured hitter. “Oh man. Oh man. Oh mama that’s a knife. Oh man.”

“Don’t!” Eliot snaps. “Don’t touch it Hardison. Just…”

His eyes roll back, and Parker leaps forward just in time, catching his head as he slumps over.

“Eliot!” Sophie calls, patting the hitter’s face. “Nate! Hospital!”

“It’s okay.” Parker says. Her voice is a bit flat, she thinks, but she’d been taking notes on being comforting. It was becoming increasingly clear to her that she was the only one remotely prepared to deal with a severely wounded Eliot. Nate might have been able to put his feelings aside long enough, but he’s driving. “He’s okay.” She reassures again. Eliot’s pulse is fast but steady against her fingertips. Blood gushes from either side of the knife hilt with every breath the hitter takes. “Give me the first aid kit.”

She binds up the wound with careful motions, wrapping the knife so it won’t cause further damage before they reach the hospital. The bleeding slows with the pressure, color returning to Eliot’s face.

“Hey big guy.” She brushes his hair back. “You with us?”

Eliot blinks up at her, his blue eyes dull with pain. “P’ker?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Eliot. I’m here.”

“S’ry.” He slurs.

She shakes her head, the prick of tears warning her that her impassivity was wearing off. “You saved us.”

He makes a pleased noise, his weight falling more heavily against her.

She pulls him into her side to keep him upright, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Thank you, Eliot.”

#12: A Hug When Words Aren't Enough

5

Parker darts away, Eliot covering for her as she makes the vault door, pulling out her tools with lithe fingers.

There weren’t supposed to be guards up here, much less actually decent ones. Eliot was here to get her out, not in. Still, she trusts him to protect her.

The fight is brutal, and she closes her eyes, tuning out the sounds of bodily harm. The lock’s tumblers rumble comfortingly in her ear.

4

One of the guys goes down. His head makes a very distinctive sound as it slams into the concrete floor. He won’t be getting up again for a while.

“Hurry up, Parker!” Eliot calls.

A second man bounces off his knee and comes back for more.

3

The lock clicks open, and Parker grins.

“Got it!” She calls back to the hitter. She hears Hardison give a whoop through the comms, and she throws a thumbs up to the camera in the corner, knowing he’s watching from Lucille.

Guy two goes down, groaning. He’s clutching his leg in a way that Parker knows means broken. His nose pours blood onto the floor.

2

She turns the wheel, the vault opening agonizingly slowly.

There is a sudden click behind her, and all the air goes out of the room.

“PARKER!”

Eliot crashes into her, his momentum carrying them both through the door and into the vault beyond.

1

The gun goes off.

Eliot jerks.

Parker screams.

The vault door slams shut.

Her ears are ringing, a horrid white noise that she tries to flinch away from, but there is something heavy pinning her down.

She takes a breath, and some of the noise clarifies into voices; Hardison, Sophie, and Nate all talking at once. Their words are drenched in terror.

The reason hits her all at once.

“Eliot!” She shrieks, sitting up.

Her head slams into his.

“Ow, Parker.” He grumbles, rubbing his head. “Don’t do that.”

“You’re shot!”

“What?” He peers at her. “Parker, no, sweetheart, I’m not hurt. Are you?”

He’s trying to examine her now, his hands on her shoulders as he looks her over.

She shakes her head numbly, her eyes filling. “No, no, I thought…”

But he is whole, his face unmarred by pain, his clothes free of bloody holes.

Too many feelings crash over her at once, and she throws herself into Eliot’s arms, holding as much of him as she could fit into her smaller frame.

She feels him startle at her abrupt hug, but it only takes a moment for his arms to return the gesture, wrapping her up in a cocoon of warmth and safety.

The idea of losing him flits across her brain, and she flinches away from the agony in that thought.

“Parker?”

She just shakes her head again, unable to voice what she’s feeling. She hasn’t felt this before, doesn’t know how she could start expressing what this man, this team, has begun to mean to her.

“Parker, we’re still locked in the vault.”

Late Addition: #5: A Hug To Stay Warm

Sophie is getting tired of running cons on snowy mountaintops. First there had been the one at the ski resort, then that poor hiker, and now this. How Nate was finding all these snow-bound clients Sophie would never know or understand.

On the one hand, the freezing temperatures gave her a lot to work with in terms of layered clothing. On the other, it seemed no matter how many darn clothes she put on, she could never fully block out the icy fingers of the wind.

Next round, she was going to go through the potential client list and find someone who lived in California or Georgia or something tropical. Like Hawaii. Sophie could definitely go for a sunny beach right now.

She shivered again, her bones aching under her skin. This was the worst part of being cold, how your whole body tried to crawl inside itself to conserve energy. Every inch of her felt raw and sore and miserable.

She never heard his footsteps. Solid as he was, Eliot had always moved with a surprising grace. Her first indication of his presence was a sudden deliciously relaxing heat that seemed to come from all sides simultaneously.

Sophie sighed with pleasure, melting into the hitter’s embrace. Eliot was looking down at her, one eyebrow raised, the corner of his mouth just twitching.

“Cold, darlin’?” He asked softly, tucking a strand of hair back under her cap.

“Mmm.” Sophie replied, burrowing closer to her own personal space heater. “Not anymore.”


	2. Pride Prompt #1: Eliot/Quinn Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leverage Pride Prompt #1 for RogueofShadows
> 
> She asked for a proposal with Eliot/Quinn. I'm sorry this is so late, but I hope you still enjoy!

It was an accident. Really.

Hardison had been laying out their newest con, Parker humming thoughtfully as she put pieces together into ideas. Next to her, Eliot was scowling from his stool, an expression Quinn had learned was basically his default during the talking bits. Quinn himself was sitting on his other side, close enough that their shoulders brushed each time one of them shifted, which is what he would later blame for his distraction.

“And then,” Hardison continued, flipping to a new slide, “Eliot and Quinn go in as a married couple, and hopefully the mark takes the bait. You good with that, Quinn?”

He blinked at Hardison. “Duh. I mean, we don’t even have to pretend.”

Eliot coughed, shifted beside him, but Quinn’s mouth was faster.

“We’ve been married for years.”

His brain caught up just as the room fell into a dead silence.

“WHAT?” Hardison and Parker screeched at the same time.

Eliot’s head thunked onto the tabletop.

“I…wait…but…” Quinn looked around, “I thought you knew?”

“No!” Hardison was gaping at Eliot. “Y’all went off and got married? When was this? Why weren’t we invited?”

“Dammit Hardison.” Eliot finally decided to join the fray. “We weren’t exactly planning to up and get married. It just kinda happened.”

“How does that ‘just kinda happen’?” Hardison asked.

“Years?” Parker wanted to know.

“The con can wait.” Hardison decided, swiping the screen clear. He dragged a chair around and sat down. “Spill.”

Eliot was glaring around the room, so Quinn caved. “Remember the job we did with the dam?”

“Yeah.” Parker said.

“Well, basically, Eliot promised me a favor in exchange for helping you guys out.”

Parker wrinkled her nose. “So you asked him to marry you?”

“No!” Quinn sighed. “Look, it wasn’t… it didn’t start out like that. Getting married wasn’t the plan. It just kind of… happened.”

“You’ve said that.” Hardison prompted. “Still waiting for the story.”

“We were in a little European country. They happened to be protesting for gay rights during the time we were there, and, very long story short, at one point we had to make out to get out of a sticky situation.”

“Unfortunately,” Eliot picked up the narrative, “the lady we were staying with at the time saw us, and she was convinced we were a couple. And then the laws got passed…”

“…she thought we had been just waiting for it to be legal…”

“…really she thought she was doing us a favor, and it would have totally blown our cover to refuse.”

“So, we got married in a little ceremony. It was really sweet, actually.”

Eliot had given up on his aggravation and was looking at Quinn softly, not quite smiling. “Yeah it was.”

“So, you got married for a job?” Hardison clarified.

Quinn shrugged. “Yeah. I mean, at first it was part of the job, but then we found we kinda liked pretending. And eventually it wasn’t pretending anymore. We liked it. More than either of us expected to, I think. We’ve only kept it on the downlow cause we don’t want anyone to try to use us against each other. Attachments are dangerous in our line of work, especially before I was officially a part of the team here.”

Parker was still frowning. “But why didn’t you tell us?”

Eliot looked at Quinn and shrugged. “I mean, at first we didn’t count it or whatever, I’m pretty sure its not legal by U.S. standards. And then, there just wasn’t a good time? By the time we even realized we should tell people we’d already technically been married for almost two years. How do you bring that up?”

Hardison was bent over his tablet, typing furiously. “Wait…wait! Yes! Oh my gosh.”

“What?” Parker asked, leaning over his shoulder. Her eyes went soft and round. “Oh.” She looked at Quinn.

Hardison cleared his throat. “Well, I mean, you aren’t technically legal in the U.S., but I can fix that with a few keystrokes if you want.”

Quinn blinked. “Oh, yeah. I mean. That’d be neat, Eliot?”

Eliot huffed. “No.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sure, no, that’s fine, I…” Quinn shut up when Eliot stepped into his space.

“No,” Eliot said, “I mean let’s do it right this time.”

“What?”

Eliot smirked. “You, me, courthouse, witnesses. Rings.”

“Oh.”

Parker hissed. “Eliot! No, you gotta do it right! Say the words!”

Eliot opened his mouth.

“Get down!” Parker was flapping her hand frantically. “One knee, Eliot!”

Eliot rolled his eyes but complied, going gracefully down to one knee. He looked up at Quinn. “Quinn Spencer, will you marry me, again?”

Quinn was grinning ear to ear. “Yeah, Eliot Spencer. I’ll marry you again.”

Like their first, their second wedding wasn’t fancy. Eliot and Quinn stood before a judge, Hardison next to Eliot and Parker standing up with Quinn. The vows were simple but honest, the ceremony short but sweet.

At the end, they were again pronounced man and husband, and Eliot kissed Quinn deep and true. It was official now.

They were Eliot and Quinn Spencer. For real. Forever.


	3. Angst Prompts Round 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another prompt list challenge for myself! Had a lot of fun doing these and will hopefully get to a second round fairly soon. Please pay attention to the tags! The last one especially may be triggering for some, it is individually labelled. Thank you for reading!

#7. Because nobody cares about me.

“You’re hurt.”

Thankfully, Eliot had heard Parker slip through the bathroom window. Otherwise, he might have started off this little team by putting the thief out of commission.

“Parker.” He growled, his temper held tightly in check. “What are you doing?”

“You’re hurt.” She repeated, watching him with big, sad eyes.

He was, in fact, hurt. Job number four with Nathan Ford’s team of misfits, and Eliot had ended up on the wrong side of a knife. It was a nasty slice, but not anywhere near life-threatening. But then the guy hadn’t been aiming for Eliot.

He’d made the mistake of trying to stab Hardison in the back while the hacker had been working on the security system.

Eliot, who had been patrolling the perimeter, had arrived with just enough time to throw his arm between the deadly blade and Hardison’s heart.

Now, he was attempting to stitch up the bloody result. Or at least, he was, before Parker showed up to distract him.

Eliot snorted. “No one cares about me, Parker. I take the hits. That’s my job.” He turned back to the mirror, trying to find the best spot to set the next stitch, hoping Parker would leave.

“I care.”

Eliot looked up in surprise.

Parker looked almost frightened by the admission, perched on the sill like a bird ready to take flight. “I don’t know why, really, but I do.”

Eliot set the needle down, watching her. “I appreciate that Parker.” It seemed like the right thing to say.

Parker hesitated, half in and half out, before hopping lightly down from the sill and joining him at the sink. They stared at each other in the mirror for a long moment.

“Would you have done it for me?” Parker asked, finally.

“What?” Eliot asked. “Jumped in front of a knife?”

“Yeah.”

There’s something about her stark gaze that unnerves him, and he has to swallow before he can answer.

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

Another beat of silence. Eliot watches a bead of blood trickle down his arm slowly.

“I never had that before.”

Her voice is so quiet, he almost doesn’t catch the words. They shouldn’t make his heart clench as painfully as they do.

His voice is hoarse when he finally finds it again. “I promise, so long as it’s in my power, to get between you and any wayward knives. Okay, Parker?”

She smiles at him, her eyes dancing, the moment broken. “Okay! Thanks Eliot.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” He grumbles. “Shoo.”

She does not. In fact, she steps even closer, studying the wound which is starting to bleed again in earnest, as if to punish Eliot for ignoring it.

Her nimble lockpicks fingers reach out, hovering just above the gash. “May I?”

He must make some sound, because she reassures him. “I know how.”

Well, it couldn’t hurt much worse than doing it himself, and at this angle he was setting himself up for an ugly scar anyway. He motions to the needle.

She is very gentle.

#16 I could just use a hug. 

(Follows the previous fic.)

Hardison finally manages to corner Eliot in the kitchen.

He’s been trying for days, but for all that the man is built like a tank, he is amazingly good at disappearing when Hardison blinks.

Not quite as good as Parker, of course, but that’s an impossible standard anyway.

Eliot’s grumbling something that probably has to do with the fact that the team had ordered pizza three times this week already, pulling something green and leafy that Hardison didn’t even know they had from the refrigerator.

Hardison isn’t being sneaky, due to that not being a smart move around former hitmen who could absolutely kill him with their pinky finger if they were so inclined, so he’s not surprised to see Eliot’s eyes flick up as he enters.

“Hey, man.” He starts, awkwardly.

Eliot nobly refrains from rolling his eyes, though Hardison can almost see the urge pass through him. “Hardison.”

“Uh. Yeah. So, Parker told me something the other day, and I just, I wanted to say something about that.”

Now Eliot does roll his eyes, setting the leafy thing down and rummaging through the cabinets, presumably searching for a specific utensil among Nate’s atrociously organized cookware. The white bandage is stark against his tanned bicep. “Yes, Hardison, I will continue to jump in front of knives for you to. Happy?”

Hardison tears his eyes away from the evidence that Eliot had done exactly that, less than a week ago, and struggles to refocus. “No. I mean, yes! That’s just, not what I came here to say.”

“I don’t need praise for doing my job, Hardison.” Eliot growls. “Go thank somebody else.”

Hardison almost snarls, and he’s gratified to see Eliot pause slightly. “See, that’s the problem. Parker told me that apparently, you don’t think anybody cares when you get hurt.”

Eliot finally finds what he’s looking for, tugging a pan free from a precarious stack and shutting the cabinet door before any other dishes can decide to follow it. “I’m a hitter, Hardison. I get hit. That’s my job. It’s no use getting upset over it.”

“No use getting…!” Hardison gapes, fumbling for words. “Man, do you even know how scared I was when I saw all that blood? You saved me, okay? You saved me, and you got hurt doing it, and don’t you ever, ever think that doesn’t matter to me. To the team.”

Eliot is starting to look highly uncomfortable. Hardison suspects one conversation isn’t going to change the hitter’s mind about his worth, but it’s okay. Hardison can keep trying until it sticks.

For now, he decides to let the guy off the hook. He opens his arms. “I could just use a hug, man, okay?”

“No.” Eliot says, brandishing the pan in a distinctively threatening manner.

“C’mon Eliot.” Hardison wheedles, advancing. “Bro hug. Let me have this.”

“No!” Eliot repeats, retreating with the pan held out like a sword. He swats at Hardison half-heartedly, and Hardison takes a chance and lunges.

“Dammit Hardison!”

Success.

#9 You look sad.

“You look sad.”

Eliot turned from the window, smiling at Quinn as the other man passed over a beer. “Do I?”

Quinn shrugged. “You hide it well, but it’s just…here.” He touches his thumb to the side of Eliot’s mouth, the rest of his hand cupping Eliot’s cheek lightly.

Eliot turns into his palm, pressing a kiss against it. “Just… thinking about the team again.” He admits.

Quinn nods. “Nate and Sophie get to Europe okay?”

“Yeah. Nate wouldn’t tell us exactly where they were going on their ‘pre-honeymoon’, but their plane landed about an hour ago.”

“You miss them.”

Eliot sighed. “Yeah. I mean, we’re ready. Parker’s ready. And I don’t blame Nate for wanting a break, even if none of us are sure exactly how long he and Sophie are actually going to survive being regular people.”

“What’s the pool?”

“Hmm, Hardison bet three months. Parker said six, and it’ll be Sophie’s fault.”

“And you?”

Eliot shrugged, looking away.

“Didn’t feel right?”

“Sophie asked me, once, who I thought would handle normal life the best out of the team.” He chuckled sadly. “I said me.”

“Well, you’d certainly be the most equipped.” Quinn joked lightly. “Do any of the rest of them even know how to boil water?”

Eliot snorted, which of course was the point. “I tell you about Parker burning herself making cereal?” He asked.

“How?” Quinn asked, horrified and amused.

“Mmm.” Eliot took a swig of his beer. “Well, she thought it would be a good idea to put coffee in her bowl, and then dump the cereal on top of it. Sugar plus caffeine, what could go wrong? Anyway, the coffee was freshly made, and when she went to dump the cereal in, it splashed all up her arm. If I hadn’t been right there with a towel…”

Quinn was shaking with laughter. “Did she learn her lesson?”

“Of course not.” Eliot rolled his eyes. “She just gave the coffee five seconds to cool and proceeded.”

“That girl.” Quinn shook his head fondly.

The levity over, Eliot felt the heavy mood resettling.

“Hey.” Quinn said softly. “You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah. I just,” His fist clenched, helplessly. “I knew my job, you know? And I still know it, but now two of them are on the other side of the world, and I can’t be there if something goes wrong. And Parker, and Hardison… I know Parker’s the mastermind, she makes the plans, but it’s my job to keep the safe from all the things they don’t see coming. Without Nate and Sophie… it seems so much bigger somehow. So much more.”

“You don’t have anyone to look up to anymore.” Quinn said quietly.

“Yeah.” Eliot blew out a breath. “I have two modes. I work alone, or I follow orders. I don’t do… this.” He waved a hand.

Quinn caught it. “Then here is your order, Eliot Spencer. You take care of those crazy kids, and you always, always, come home to me.”

#9 You look sad.

They are standing in the shadows, a recently deceased martyr and a newly reborn killer, watching the party swirling below them as San Lorenzo celebrated their democratic victory.

Sophie watches Eliot more than the party. She reads the steep price of the past year in the set of his shoulders, the relief of Moreau’s downfall in the way he stands, the horrid twisting grief of what he’d been forced to do again in the tilt of his head.

“What is it, Sophie?” Eliot asks, suddenly, breaking the long silence they had wrapped themselves in.

She snaps her eyes away guiltily. She had forgotten how very aware he was of his surroundings at all times. Especially here, in this place where he would find no rest. She ached to comfort him but was at a loss of how to go about it. Eliot had always been the hardest of the team for her to read.

Still, some tells were obvious.

“Nothing.” Sophie said, softly. “It’s just, you look sad.”

The corner of his mouth turned up wryly. “Do I now?”

“Eliot, sweetheart…”

He flinches lightly at the endearment she barely even registers she let slip.

“…are you okay?”

He breathes out sharply through his teeth, a hiss or a laugh or a sob Sophie can’t tell. He is rigid, his face still turned from her as he stares sightlessly over the balcony.

“You know what I did.”

Its not a question, still she almost denies it before she realizes he’s not talking about the warehouse.

“That’s all over now, Eliot.” She says instead. “He can’t hurt you anymore.”

“Wasn’t me I was worried about.”

“He can’t hurt anyone anymore, Eliot. It’s over.”

He stares down at his hands, clenches them into fists until they turn white. “It’ll never be over.”

She’s not sure what has broken him open tonight. Maybe it’s the release of knowing Moreau is locked away, maybe it’s the terrifying prospect of figuring out how to live in the after. Whatever it is, she suspects this might be the most important conversation she has ever had with Eliot.

She steps up, forcing him to face her or risk exposing her to the crowds below. “Eliot, whatever you did, whatever you’ve done…” She suspects far more than he’d told them, thinks of Nate and guns and warehouses, of how easily a loyalty like Eliot’s could be twisted into something awful, “you chose to walk away. You chose to change. You chose to be a good man.”

His jaw trembles. He can’t quite meet her eyes. Her heart aches for him, for whoever had told him he was worthless and broken again and again until he couldn’t believe anything else.

“And you get to choose.” She continues, her voice mercifully steady. “Not for Nate, or me, or Parker or Hardison or the client of the week or anybody else.”

She puts a hand over his heart, anchoring her words to his soul. “You can choose to be free, Eliot Spencer.”

#9 You look sad.

(Everyone liked #9, apparently.)

Eliot hasn’t stopped moving since the helicopter dropped them off miles from where they had left a bleeding Nate surrounded by guns.

He’d hotwired a car, drove them to the safehouse, ushered them all inside, done at least five separate perimeter checks (she’d counted), and practically carried a grieving Sophie to one of the bedrooms. Now he was in the kitchen, moving in a way that seemed less productive and more like he was trying not to throw everything in sight.

Hardison was scrunched in front of his tech. Sophie hadn’t moved from the ball of misery she’d curled up into on the bed. Nate was gone.

Parker didn’t do emotions, but there weren’t exactly a lot of options left.

Plus if she was going to try to comfort one of them, she would have chosen Eliot anyway. Hardison and Sophie were all wet emotions, tears and hugs and talking things out. She and Eliot were cold emotions. They put up walls, shut people out, hardened their shells so the pain couldn’t touch them.

Walls and shells she could handle.

Eliot doesn’t look at her when she enters the kitchen. She can instantly tell she was right, though. Whatever he’s been doing in here, she’s pretty sure even he can’t make any sort of meal out of the ingredients scattered across the counters.

He’s fidgeting. Like Parker does with her locks. One of her many childhood therapists had called it stimming (though she hadn’t used locks then), though she wasn’t sure if that term could be applied to Eliot. Still, the definition was a repetitive motion meant to soothe, and that seemed to describe what he was doing.

It scared her. She used her locks when she felt out of control, when there was too much world and not enough her. Eliot was always in control, was always supposed to be in control. She’d already lost one rock today. She wasn’t prepared to lose another.

She checks for any open flames or sharp objects before she hops up onto the counter in the midst of Eliot’s growing mess.

He turns to glare at her, but even his glare is half-hearted. She’s not good with emotions, but even she can see underneath the thin veneer of anger he’s trying so hard to present.

She reaches up, smooths a finger across his brow, watches the way the wrinkles fade as he stops pretending.

‘You look sad.’ She thinks, saying it with her eyes rather than her words.

He shifts his weight, his mouth twitching downward. ‘I failed.’ It says.

She sighs, tugging him closer with a hand on his wrist. When he’s close, she leans over and presses her head to his shoulder. ‘No. We are still here.’ She reassures him. ‘We still need you.’

Arms wrap around her shoulders, not a cage but a harness. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

“Can you put the weird food away now?” She asks out loud.

He huffs a laugh, and her heart sparks into joy.

#16 Stop telling me you're okay. 

It’s times like this that Eliot misses Sophie the most keenly.

He misses her all the time, of course, like a phantom limb. Reaching for that soft, steadying presence and getting the sharp spikes of Tara instead will always be jarring. He hadn’t realized how much he relied on that soothing voice in his ear until it was gone.

But on nights like tonight, with Nate spiraling into a bottle, Eliot truly felt a visceral need for someone to help share the load of the team with.

The mastermind had snapped something cruel to Parker, the thief having tried to ask the bartender to cut him off. Normally it was Eliot’s job to rescue everyone from the fallout of a truly drunk Nate, but he’d been busy wrapping up Nate’s latest hairbrained con.

He’d come downstairs to catch the tail end of the whole thing and had to refrain from simply clocking Nate in his smug little mouth.

He’d swallowed the rage, knowing better than anyone that violence wasn’t going to do anything but escalate the situation. He’d dragged Nate upstairs, put the mastermind to bed, held Parker until she stopped shivering, whispered comfort into her hair.

Hardison had watched them quietly from the couch, lit by the glow of the screens he was ignoring.

Finally, Parker had gone off to do whatever she did, and Eliot grabbed a beer from the fridge, popping the cap and settling himself heavily next to Hardison.

He notices the hacker’s look, deflects. “I’m okay.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“I’m okay.” Eliot insists again, taking a swig of the beer. It warms him as it pools in his stomach, and he tips his head back, closing his eyes.

“He’s getting worse.” Hardison says quietly.

“Yeah.” Eliot agrees. It’s true. They’d seen the spiral starting from the moment Sophie had left, but now that Nate was drinking again it was even more obvious. “I’ll talk to him again once he sobers up.”

Hardison shakes his head. “No, that’s not…you don’t have to do that. You don’t have to carry that load by yourself man.”

Eliot snorts. “’s my job, man. Take the hits for the team. Even the ones from Nate. Sides, I can handle it. Parker can’t. S’ok.”

“Stop telling me you’re okay.” Hardison said, wrapping his arm around Eliot’s shoulders and pulling him in. “It’s okay to be not okay.”

Eliot snorts again, but in a moment of weakness allows the embrace. He’s tired, so tired, and maybe it’s okay to let Hardison take a bit of it. Just for a moment.

Eliot is evidently far more exhausted than he had even realized, because the next thing he knows he is startling awake on Hardison’s shoulder.

The hacker is very still, like they had all learned to be when dealing with an Eliot who was disoriented or unsure of his surroundings. “You okay man?”

Surprisingly, though the weight resettles itself across his shoulders as wakefulness returns, it’s lighter than it was. “Yeah.” Eliot says. “I am.”

#15 You need to eat something.

Parker is staring at him.

She’s perched on the windowsill, where she’s been ever since they got back. It’s been nearly five hours now, Parker sitting, Hardison working, and still no word.

Hardison is trying to pretend that isn’t affecting him.

His fingers fly across the keyboard, typing, coding, checking tab after tab. After a job that went as horribly wrong as the last one he has to be doubly, triply sure there can be no trace to lead back to Leverage.

Parker is still staring at him.

He looks up, meeting her dark, scared eyes. “What is it, Parker.”

“You should eat something.” Her voice is so soft he has to take a second to work out the words.

He shakes the pack of gummy frogs at her. “I am.”

“No.” She finally climbs off the windowsill, pacing towards him on the cat-silent feet she and Eliot share. “You should eat something good.”

Hardison bites back the snarky retort that his gummy frogs are good, thank you very much, and just sighs. “I have to finish this, Parker. I’ll eat something later.”

“You should eat!” She almost yells it, and he startles, looking up at her. Her cheeks are red, her eyes glassy, and Hardison calls himself three kinds of fool.

“Parker…” He stands, pulls her into his arms.

“Eliot would want you to eat.” She says into his chest.

Hardison blinks hard, his gaze landing on his open laptop, a news clip running as firefighters battled a burning office building.

The office building that their hitter had been in when it blew.

“He’s gonna be fine.” Hardison murmured, stroking Parker’s long, silky hair. “He’ll be back to cooking and growling us out of his kitchen soon enough.”

Parker said nothing, which was just as well. Truth was, Hardison didn’t know that. Not with Eliot in the hospital after being buried under a ton of concrete and steel.

Sophie had stayed with Eliot, as their ID’s had had them as married for the con. Nate was finishing up with their client, passing them the time-sensitive data Eliot had nearly died for. Hardison had been ordered to clean up their trail, and Parker had followed like his shadow.

He can tell she is lost. Eliot is normally the one she would turn to when her world was falling apart. He was her rock, her stability. Her parachute. Hardison was the one who lightened things up, who got her to be silly and soft and sensitive.

He didn’t know what she would do, what either of them would do, without Eliot to keep them tethered to the ground.

He did know he wasn’t letting Parker fly away on her own though.

Hardison began to rock lightly, back and forth, humming something tuneless and soothing.

Parker melted, slightly, against him. “I’m glad you’re here, Hardison.”

He gave her a sad smile. “I’m glad you’re here too, girl.”

She tucked her head back into his shoulder. “Hardison?”

“Hmmm?”

“You really should eat something.”

#18 Why didn't you tell me?

This fic has Eliot and Quinn speaking a bit of Catalan, which is a reference to my headcanon that it is Quinn’s first language. Translations at the end.

This fic is 1k rather than 500 words because reasons. 

He’s not dead.

It’s maybe the first rational thought Eliot has had since he picked up that gun in a warehouse and told Nate to get out.

He knows the mastermind is watching him as the ambulance takes the Italian away, knows something is different, maybe irreparably, between them.

And still Moreau had gotten away.

Eliot sees the team back to the bar, some of the terror of the past week, month, year fading as he sees his team, his family, safe and together. They aren’t celebrating, not really, but there is the frenetic energy of those who have escaped death by a fraction of an inch.

Eliot can’t join them. Not while death is still cold against his skin.

He waits until they are distracted, and slips out the back.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to be with them. He wants it so bad it hurts, actually. Wants to touch them, to hold them, to reassure himself that it’s over, they won, they’re safe.

But he’s all sharp edges and gunsmoke right now, and he can’t be that around them.

Quinn is in Eliot’s apartment when he arrives.

The other hitter looks up as the door opens, anger marring the handsome face. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Quinn hisses.

He’s pissed, and rightly so. Eliot knows they need to have this conversation, knows he needs to explain why he couldn’t tell Quinn about Moreau, but he just can’t get the words to come.

His head is pounding, his awareness shot to hell by the emotional and physical toll of the day. His last glimpse of Moreau, through the window of the plane, is playing on repeat behind his eyes.

He doesn’t even register that the room is spinning until he hears Quinn curse loudly and feels the frantic hands tugging at his clothes.

“Where?” Quinn says, urgently, pulling off the jacket Eliot had used to replace his shirt. “Eliot, where?”

Eliot just blinks at him, trying to remember how to form sentences, but it doesn’t matter anyway. Quinn’s hand comes back slick with blood.

“Shit.” Quinn’s face is ashen as he tucks himself under Eliot’s shoulder and half-carries him to the couch. “Shit, Eliot, damn it all to hell.”

Eliot lets Quinn manhandle him until he’s draped awkwardly across the pillows. Quinn drops to his knees, calloused hands pulling aside Eliot’s clothing to get to the wound he’d found.

Eliot hadn’t really registered the first injury, so he could perhaps be forgiven for overlooking the second until Quinn puts his hand in exactly the wrong place. Eliot aches off the couch with a strangled scream, any control he might have maintained completely shattered at the white-hot pain that electrifies his battered body.

His mind decides its had quite enough and without further warning, Eliot passes out.

When he wakes, he is tucked into his bed. He can feel the bandages wound thick around his torso, the two gunshot wounds aching with a dull pain that says he’s been drugged. He’d be more worried about that, except that he can feel Quinn pressed up against his side.

The younger hitter is awake but still, his breath warm against Eliot’s neck.

Eliot blames the drug for the fact it takes him far too long to realize Quinn is crying quietly into his shoulder.

His heart aches at the realization. He blinks back his own emotions and raises a hand to stroke the dark blond curls. They stay like that, for a while, in the quiet darkness.

“I’m sorry.” Eliot says, finally.

Quinn shifts, tucking closer so he can look up at Eliot. His face is long dry, but his eyes are still haunted. “I took care of it.”

Eliot blinks, trying to connect the pieces.

“The warehouse.” Quinn clarifies. “They won’t be able to connect it to you or your team.”

“Oh.” Eliot lets out a breath. Truth be told, in the chaos of the day, he’d almost forgotten about that detail. He shivered, thinking about Hardison finding the footage. “Thank you.”

“Eliot…”

He looks down at Quinn.

“I’m sorry.”

Eliot doesn’t have to ask what Quinn’s apologizing for. The warehouse, the guns, the bodies he’d left behind. Damian Moreau. The past, since Quinn knew just as well what it felt like to have all your skeletons exposed.

“I know, carinyet. But I thought I was the one supposed to be apologizing here?”

Quinn snorts. “You are, for sure. I thought I’d let you heal up a little first before I added to your injuries though.”

Eliot smiles, perhaps the first real smile since Nate had announced that they were hunting Moreau. “Planning on punching me, then?”

“I’m your huckleberry.”

Laughing hurt, but Eliot did it anyway, letting the sweet, familiar banter wash away the lingering grief and guilt. He knew it would come back later, knew that he and Quinn would have to discuss what had happened for real, but that was okay.

Quinn knew, in ways the others didn’t. Couldn’t. In ways Eliot would never want them to. Quinn knew the worst thing he had ever done and all the little things in between and he would never love Eliot any less, look at him any differently.

Eliot could burn the whole world to ash, and Quinn would still be waiting when he came back, would kiss him and tend his wounds and hold him until death came to claim them both.

Eliot cupped Quinn’s jaw in his palm, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the barely visible tear tracks there. “I am sorry, carinyet.”

“I know.” Quinn says, softly. “Just don’t shut me out, next time, okay? If you’re going to throw yourself into the fire, at least let me bring the hose. I can handle your pain, but not if I don’t even know it’s happening.”

“I can’t.” Eliot admits.

“Can’t what?”

Eliot swallows. “Handle your pain.”

Quinn rises above him, searching his face. He huffs a broken laugh. “I love you too, you gamarús.”

Catalan words:

Carinyet-darling

Gamarús-dolt/nitwit

#13 Hey, just look at me. Breathe.

Warning: This fic contains a fairly graphic panic attack following a nightmare. Eliot also mistakes thunder for gunfire. 

A gunshot cleaves the air. Eliot’s moving, a knife in his hand, darting for cover before he is even fully awake.

He sees a shadow to his left. ‘ _Enemy!’_ his body shouts, even as his mind cries ‘ _friend!’_.

He stops the knife just in time.

Parker is just looking at him, casually, like he didn’t almost shred her throat with a blade.

It’s too much, with the nightmare and the gunfire ringing in his head and her cool, assessing gaze. The knife hits the floor and he follows a second later, his body locked in place, his lungs burning for air as he heaves in wild breaths.

He’s shaking, his whole frame arching off the ground in his quest for oxygen. His hands are claws, his muscles rigid.

He retains jut enough mental ability to realize this is a panic attack, but not anywhere near enough to talk himself down.

He doesn’t even have the energy to be ashamed when Parker grabs his hand and squeezes it tight, the pressure providing the slightest relief from the storm.

“Eliot.” She says, and he dimly understands its not the first time.

She’s kneeling before him, his one hand in both of hers, staring into his face with a firm gaze. “Is this okay?” She tightens her hold on his hand.

He nods.

“Ok, good. Can I touch you?”

He doesn’t know. He’s not in control like this, doesn’t want to hurt her.

“Ok.” She answers his silence. “We can come back to that. Do you want me to keep talking?”

He nods, desperate for something to anchor him to reality.

She does, chattering something mindless about Hardison and his weird elf friends. Or was it Sophie and her millionth pair of shoes? Eliot keeps losing the thread of conversation, but her voice is helping. The knot in his chest is easing, his breaths actually making headway against the aching emptiness of his lungs.

The gunshot goes off again.

Eliot jumps a mile high, his body demanding he find the threat, but failing him when he tries to rise. The world is spinning in horrid, jerky motions, going black and fuzzy at the edges.

He’s falling, failing, dying.

“Eliot!”

Parker. Parker’s hands around his. Parker’s voice in his ear. The couch above the Brewpub, where he’d fallen asleep. The storm outside, rumbling with thunder.

Parker. “Hey,” Her hand moves to his face, frames his cheek. “just look at me. Breathe.”

He does, leaning into her hand like it’s the only thing holding him upright.

It is.

Slowly, slowly, the world refocuses. His breathing slows, steadies. The fading adrenaline leaves him weak-kneed and weary, and he wants to sink into the floor at the realization of what Parker had just seen. Of what he had always tried to hide from them.

But Parker is Parker, and she takes it in stride. “Can I touch you now?” She asks, casually.

He nods.

She curls against his chest like a kitten.

His anchor to the world.


End file.
